


Hygiene Protocol

by elaiel



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Amnesia, Bathing/Washing, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Gentle noncon, Medical Procedures, Physical Abuse, Rope Bondage, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 22:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaiel/pseuds/elaiel
Summary: The Winter Soldier is injured and requires medical treatment to maintain optimal functioning.“It fell off a twelve floor building onto concrete! That’s what’s wrong! [...] You want to explain to the boss why it ended up all bent up and fucked?” The other handler demanded.Senior handler Sitwell’s voice cut in on the line. “Shut the fuck up!” He silenced them both. “Find someone who can do it. Someone disposable. You’ve got an hour before it starts to set in place. Get it fixed up and cleaned up.”





	Hygiene Protocol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NekoMida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoMida/gifts).

> Heads up warning for canon-typical abuse and de-personalisation of the Winter Soldier by handlers and the Soldier himself. Also reasonably explicit/accurate description of treating broken limbs (don't worry, he's a super-soldier, he heals fast!). Please note all other tags. Enjoy!

The Soldier lay on the floor of the van. One of it’s handlers was sitting on a bench seat talking into his radio. It could hear the whole conversation though in one of the earbuds they had pressed into its ears before the mission. The other earbud had fallen out when the Soldier fell.

_ “What’s wrong?” _

“Damn thing busted itself up.”

_ “Did it do the job?” _

“Yes it did the job. It always does the job.”

_ “Well what went wrong?” _

“It fell off a twelve floor building onto concrete! That’s what’s wrong!”

_ “What’s it done?” _

“Broken leg. Broken arm. That’s for definite. Can’t tell what else.” 

_ “Well you gotta get those set before the healing factor sets in and it heals bent.” _

The Soldier frowned. Bent limbs would decrease its efficiency. It was aware it had stopped bleeding externally, but there was still an extreme level of pain which indicated it was very damaged.

“That’s more than I can do. I don’t have that kind of kit here and I’m a field medic, not an ER doc!”

_ “Well you can’t leave it like that.” _

The handler in the van seemed annoyed with the other handler. “I’m not fucking around with its health. Who the fuck is gonna want to cause it that kinda pain anyway? What if it lashes out?”

The Soldier was reasonably certain it would not lash out if a handler was trying to fix it. 

_ “You want to explain to the boss why it ended up all bent up and fucked?” The other handler demanded. _

Senior handler Sitwell’s voice cut in on the line.  _ “Shut the fuck up!”  _ He silenced them both.  _ “Find someone who can do it. Someone disposable. You’ve got an hour before it starts to set in place. Get it fixed up and cleaned up.” _

The handler took his finger off the button on the radio headpiece. “Well shit.” 

The handler instructed the driver to move off and circle the area, then climbed through into the front of the vehicle, leaving the Soldier alone in the back. The Soldier waited. Medical attention would arrive. It was not currently deteriorating. If it tilted its head a little, the Soldier could see street lights passing by through the smoked glass rear windows of the van. Time passed. The Soldier was unclear as to how long, it was unable to view the timepiece it had been provided with as it was on its broken arm and it had been instructed not to move it any further. 

“Over there!” The handler was speaking to the driver. 

“Where?”

“On the right. Looks like a free clinic or something.”

“Okay. Yeah.” 

The van swerved sideways, then apparently turned down a side road or alley.

The handler, looked into the rear of the van. 

“Stay here!” He ordered the Soldier. “Don’t move!” 

The Soldier lay on the rear of the van as the handler and driver got out. They opened the door of the van and took out weaponry before slamming it closed. The van rocked and the Soldier successfully restrained a wince as the broken bones in its leg ground together, it had been instructed not to move. Footsteps thudded away, then there was relative silence outside the van. It was dark. No movement. More time passed. 

Footsteps approached the van and the doors were thrown open. The Soldier’s eyes flicked immediately upwards, tilting its head back so it could see who had opened the door. It doubted it would be able to prevent its capture should the person or persons prove to be enemy agents, but it would try. Its eyes quickly accustomed to the faint glow from the streetlights outside and the figure in the doorway resolved itself into its primary handler.

“Rollins!” Another voice called in a low tone from somewhere around the side of the van. 

“Get over here!” The handler ordered. “Bring the trolley. We don’t want to fuck it up any more.”

Its ears tracked the slight squeaking of wheels as a hospital gurney was wheeled around the edge of the van door by two of the handlers who had been present earlier. 

“How we going to get it on the fucking trolley.” Muttered one.

“Lift it, you fucktard.” The other snapped. 

The handler stepped up into the van followed by the other two and between the three of them they hoisted the Soldier roughly by the straps on its uniform, out and onto the gurney. The Soldier was unable to stop a hiss of air passing out between its teeth and the primary handler scowled at it. It looked away. Behind it, the van doors were slammed and the trolley pushed into motion a short way up a rubbish strewn alley and towards a small loading bay. 

A filthy face looked out from behind a bin. The Soldier watched impassively as the handler took out a gun with silencer and shot the man as it was wheeled past, through the loading bay and into a brightly lit corridor.

By habit and training, it scanned what it could see of the building as it was pushed through. Grubby woodchip wallpaper painted off white, largely covered with health and addiction advice posters, aged grey tiles in a suspended ceiling, fluorescent lighting, third fluorescent tube it passed was flickering. The building appeared to be a medical facility, the free clinic earlier mentioned, but was in very poor repair.

The trolley was pushed into a treatment room. Its eyes flicked around the walls. Medical supplies, desk, chair, second chair, senior handler Sitwell pointing a gun at a medical staff member.

Nurse. The woman was a nurse.

The Soldier blinked at her. There was something familiar about her. Black hair, rolled up in curls on each side of her head. The hairstyle was familiar. Rolls, not curls, Victory Rolls. Red lipstick. Fire-engine red. Its eyes unfocused for a moment as it tried to recall why this would be relevant or important. It must be mission relevant or important as the Soldier had had a positive reaction to the nurse. The relevance slipped beyond the Soldier’s mental grasp. It must be more broken than it had realised. 

“Fix it.” Handler Sitwell ordered the woman.

The woman was wide-eyed. Her body language, quickened rate of breathing and the sweat beading along her hairline indicated extreme fear.

“What?” She asked. Her voice shook. “How?”

The handler, the Soldier’s primary handler for the mission, Rollins, swung his assault rifle around to point at the woman. 

“Set the broken leg. Set the broken arm. Make sure it’s not got any other broken bones.”

“How?” The woman’s voice cracked. “He’s got a compound fracture!”

Tears ran down her cheeks. For some reason the Soldier was surprised that this did not make her black mascara run. Crying normally made mascara run. Didn’t it?

“I’m a nurse!” She tried to take a step back, but her back hit the wall. A notice pinned to the pinboard behind her fluttered to the floor. 

“And I’m a soldier.” The handler said. “Just get the bones back in place. Fix it!”

“I’ve never set a bone before! He could bleed to death.”

“You know how to do it?”

“I’ve seen it done.” She admitted.

“Get on then.” The handler made a short gesture towards the Soldier with the barrel of his rifle, before refocusing it on her.

The woman swallowed, visibly. “I need painkillers. I don’t have much here.”

“No painkillers.” Senior handler Sitwell said. “They don’t work on it.”

“But he’ll…”

“No painkillers!” He snapped.

She swallowed again and went to the sink and began to wash her hands. None of the handlers in the room moved except to allow the barrels of weapons to swing towards her as she moved. She finished washing up and dried her hands on a paper towel. 

“I’ll need someone to hold the limb in place so I can manipulate it.”

“No way!” Muttered the other handler. 

“Tie it down!” Sitwell ordered him. 

The other handler grimaced, but disappeared for a minute or two before returning with a coil of rappelling cord. The nurse, who had been standing by the sink, newly clean hands held out in front of her gave a strangled yelp, but shut her mouth quickly as the handlers all looked at her. 

The Soldier and Sitwell watched as the junior handler expertly strapped the Soldier down to the gurney, a diamond latticework of rope holding its body to the trolley, its arm above the breaks to its body, and its leg above the break to its other leg. 

The handler, Rollins, did not take his gaze, or his aim, away from the nurse, but turning his head aside a little offered. “No point in strapping its good arm down, the rope wouldn’t hold.”

The junior handler shrugged and left the Soldier’s metal arm unbound, then stepped back. The Soldier was certain that it could break the rope with its flesh arm. However, it was not entirely certain this was possible with the broken bones and it had not been ordered to provide an assessment so it said nothing.

“Get on with it.” Rollins ordered the nurse, once again gesturing with the gun barrel. 

The nurse picked up some supplies from a drawer and walked over to the Soldier. “Are you okay?” She asked, fearfully.

“No talking!” 

She jumped at the snapped out order.

“I need to tell him what to do.” She whispered.

This close, the Soldier could smell that she was wearing perfume. He identified rose and musk in the complex scent, but the rest eluded him. Someone must have nodded as the nurse leaned in towards his face and spoke to him.

“You’re going to have to relax as much as possible.” She said. Her voice was still shaking. “I need you to relax your leg muscles as much as you can so I can pull your leg so the bone goes back into place. It’s going to hurt a lot. Can you do that.”

“Affirmative.” The Soldier replied. 

It blinked a moment, then complied, forcing its limb muscles to completely relax. The panels in its metal arm reset in a wave from shoulder to hand and the nurse stifled a cry as she pulled back. A growl from behind her had her moving around towards the Soldier’s injured leg and out of its field of vision. It felt her remove its boot and sock and cut away its pants up to the hip. Something antiseptic was applied to the wound where the broken end of the bone had punctured the skin.

The nurse had not lied. The damage was severe and when she pulled slowly but strongly on its foot there was a level of excruciating pain that ripped a hoarse yell from its throat. The metal hand gripped the rail at the side of the gurney which crumpled under the pressure. The soldier was not really aware of the point where the bone moved back into place, rather was suddenly aware of a decrease in pain and a realisation that the nurse was moving up towards its head murmuring  _ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry _ over and over again.

The process was repeated, less painfully with its broken forearm, a simple fracture, not breaking the skin and it lay back panting as she stepped away briefly to get more supplies. Her fingers touched its skin, going for the knots that held it to the bed.

“Leave it!” Sitwell ordered. He stepped forward gun in hand. “Are the bones set?” She nodded. “Clean it up. Don’t even think of leaving the room.”

The nurse nodded again as the three agents left the room. She looked down at the Soldier.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

The Soldier tilted its head a little to look at her. “The breaks will now heal.” It told her.

She frowned at it. “That’s not...that’s not what I meant. Are you a prisoner?”

The Soldier paused. “Soldier.” It said.

“You’re one of them?”

The Soldier was uncertain the appropriate answer to the question. The nurse was apparently not an agent, she was a prisoner. An asset, at least temporarily. It had not been provided with any orders regarding how to interact with the woman. She probably should not be given any restricted information. 

“I am the Asset.” It replied.

She seemed unsatisfied with the response from her expression, but did not request further information. She moved out of its field of vision and it felt her cleaning away blood and dirt from the injury on its leg. She completed her work and applied a dressing to the wound. Moving back into its field of vision, she looked at its arm.

“You’ll need these cast.” She told him. “But you’ve stopped bleeding already.”

It shrugged. “I heal fast.”

“You’ll need a cast so you don’t move the bones out of position before they set.” She said firmly.

“Bones will set to a basic movement strength within two hours. Combat should not be initiated within twenty-four hours of bone setting. Complete return to full bone strength will be achieved within a two week period.” It recited.

She pulled her head back to give him a long look. “Whoever told you that is telling lies.”

“I heal fast.” It repeated. 

A strand of hair had fallen out of the rolls either side of her head. She went to the sink to wash her hands and while there took a moment to pin the hair back up in its correct place. It turned its head to watch her. Her outfit didn’t seem to go with what it expected for the face and hair she was sporting. Its mind filled in a white knee length nurse’s dress, stockings and lace up shoes with a small heel, rather than the scrubs over a long sleeved t-shirt she was wearing. When she pushed her sleeves back to fully scrub her hands down, the dense colours of tattoos that wrapped around her wrist and disappeared up under her sleeve startled it,  _ not a lady, _ its mind filled in from somewhere. 

When she came back over to the Soldier, her sleeves were pushed right up to her elbow and it could see pictures of pin-up girls, stars, playing cards and other cartoons inked into the skin of her right arm. She put the basin of water down on the edge of the gurney and took some gauze from somewhere out of its line of sight.

“I’m going to clean you up a bit, okay?” She asked.

“Accepting hygiene protocols.” It replied, gaining another long look.

She shook her head, as if to discard a thought then continued. “Does the face paint come off?”

“Battle paint requires oil based cleanser.”

She disappeared to the counter before coming back with cotton wool and a jar of something. “Close your eyes.”

The Soldier complied and the cotton wool was wiped carefully over its face. 

“You can open them again.”

It blinked at her. 

“What are you?”

“I am the Asset. The Soldier.”

“You aren’t...normal.”

The Soldier did not have a reply to that so it remained silent. The woman dipped the gauze in the water, before starting to wipe its face. To the Soldier’s surprise, the water was warm. She cleaned it’s face and neck gently and it found itself turning its face into the gentle touch of her hands. She smiled down at it and moved to clean its right hand and arm, careful around where she had strapped the broken bone to stop it moving. The Soldier found its eyes closing as gentle warm strokes cleaned the dirt and blood from its fingers. 

“Is the metal arm waterproof?”

It opened its eyes. “Yes.”

“It’s pretty amazing.” She offered. 

“It is a fully functional weapon able to generate over 100kg of static force per meter squared.” The Soldier told her. 

Her eyes widened, but she washed the grime from the plates of the metal arm, although much more swiftly than she had its right arm. It had much less sensation in the left arm than the flesh arm, but it could feel her hands brushing against its body as she wiped it down, carefully if quickly.

She finished the arm and emptied the bowl of water down the sink, returning with a bowl of clean water. 

“When was the last time you managed to get a shower.” She asked as she moved down towards its legs.

“No shower.” It replied.

“Bath then?” She asked.

It squinted down over its chest to where she was removing its left boot. “No bath.”

She looked up at it. “You  _ must  _ wash.” 

It shrugged as best as it could whilst bound. “A hose is provided as required.”

She stopped in apparent surprise. “A hose? They hose you down?”

“Compliance with sanitation protocols are required to maintain adequate levels of hygiene.”

She took in a deep breath, then as footsteps sounded in the hallway quickly began to wash its foot. The footsteps passed the door and down the corridor and she slowed again. 

The Soldier could not remember having felt anything as pleasant as warm hands massaging warm soapy cloth over its skin. Its left trouser leg was rolled up as far as the restraining ropes would allow, to let her clean its ankle at least before she moved over to its broken right leg. This leg with the exception of the splint and dressing around its calf was bare to the hip where she had cut away its uniform to the hip. She washed its foot as she had the other, then moved up the leg towards the dressing, washing the remains of the dried blood from its skin. A further bowl of water was required before she moved to its thigh. Then soldier was unable to hold in a moan as warm hands massaged the muck and blood from its inner thigh. 

“Oh!” She said startled and wide-eyed. “You, um like that. I’m sorry.”

She stepped away as she spoke and the Soldier bit back a whine as her hands left its skin. It felt curiously tight and expectant, hyped up, sensitive.

Rapid footsteps approached and the door slammed open. The handler, Rumlow strode in, rifle slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked over the Soldier and nurse.

“Huh.” He snorted, with a cynical grin. “It likes you.”

The nurse flushed.

“This place.” Rumlow demanded. “What’s it do? When’s it open?”

“We’re a free clinic. Primary care centre, no emergencies. Open 8AM to 9PM.”

Rumlow nodded, fingers tapping over his rifle stock. “Why were you still here past 10PM?”

“I was finishing up the paperwork, case files, stock control.” She put a hand on the Soldier’s arm and it tensed slightly. The hand was warm, the grip gentle.

“When will more staff arrive? Don’t lie to try and get us caught, if they turn up before we’re gone, I’ll shoot them myself.”

“Cleaning staff will arrive 6.30AM. Medical staff arrive about 7:15 usually.”

Rumlow looked at his wristwatch. “Good.” He tapped his earpiece. “Four hours clear.”

The Soldier heard Sitwell’s reply in his own earpiece. “Good. Have her clean it up. It should be able to stand in twenty five minutes. Needs full workover.”

Rumlow looked at the nurse, standing watching him fearfully. “What’s your name.”

The soldier felt her flinch. Rumlow took hold of his rifle.

“Vanessa.” She said. “Vanessa Morris.”

Rumlow nodded. “I’ll be back in twenty.” He warned her. “Don’t try anything stupid.” He looked at the desk. “Internet is down. Phonelines are down. We have your cellphone.”

Rumlow left, shutting the door behind him. The nurse, Vanessa, walked away from the Soldier to sit by the desk. Time passed. The Soldier waited. 

Footsteps passed the door a few times. Every time, the Soldier saw the nurse flinch in his peripheral vision. The door was finally opened by the other handler. The soldier had not been provided the name of that agent. 

“Get him up.” The hendler ordered the woman.

“He’s got a broken leg!”

The handler pointed his gun at her. “Get him up!”

Vanessa stood and walked over to the Soldier. She had a set of emergency shears in her hand, undoubtedly what she had used to cut away its pant leg. She cut through the ropes that bound the Soldier to the gurney. The Soldier held still as she removed the ropes, then as the last one came loose, sat and swung its legs down to the floor in a single motion. 

“Don’t…!” She called out, then stopped.

It stood, waiting for orders. The woman stared at it in shock.

“Take it to the shower room.” The handler ordered the woman. “Strip it down. Clean it up.”

“You can’t…!”

The gun swung up, cutting off her protest.

“Take it to the shower, strip it down, clean it up.” The handlers voice was low and cold. “Move.”

He stepped back so she could pass him. She looked at the Soldier, then took its hand, leading it forward. The soldier gripped her hand gently and followed as ordered. The shower room was in the basement, there was a small elevator and an area which appeared to have personal hygiene and laundry facilities. 

“Stop.” The handler ordered. 

The Soldier stopped, pulling the nurse to a stop too. 

“Strip.” 

The Soldier let go the woman’s hand and started to remove its uniform, undoing the quick release snaps that held most of it on.. 

“Earpiece out.” The handler ordered, then turned to the nurse. “You too.”

“What?!” The woman sputtered next to him.

“Strip, or I get the Asset to strip you.” The handler said.

The woman stared at the handler in horror.

“I can’t…”

Standing now naked, the Asset gazed at the handler and the woman impassively. There was something it should know about this situation, but it was not immediately apparent. The gun was raised and facing down the gun, the woman began to remove her scrubs. 

“Everything.” The handler said.

She closed her eyes and stripped to the skin. 

“In.” The handler nodded at the shower room door. 

The woman walked into the shower. The soldier followed.

The handler followed them to the doorway. “Clean it. Completely.” He pulled a handful of something from his pocket with his free hand. “Then work it over. Boss says it’s gotta remain functional.” He threw a handful of foil wrapped squares on the floor. The woman gasped. 

“Don’t think you can lie about doing it. It don’t lie and it always answers, don’t you?” The last question was aimed at the Soldier.

“All questions from assigned handlers must be replied to.” The Soldier agreed.

“Don’t worry, we ain’t interested in watching it.” The handler told her. He gestured at the watch on her wrist. “Doors gonna be locked. You got an hour.”

The door slammed in their faces. The soldier looked around the room. It was windowless, white tiled walls, grey non-slip tiled floor. There were several wooden slat benches under coat hooks on the walls and four lockers which stood open and empty. Several stacks of white towels had been placed on a bench with a plastic basket of personal hygiene products. 

“Uh…” The woman said.

The Soldier turned to face her. The tattoos it had noted on her wrist continued like a sleeve to stop just past her shoulder. She had small steel rings in the nipples on her reasonably large breasts and her body hair appeared to match her head hair indicating it was, or was close to, her natural colour. Her height was considerably less than the Soldiers, approximately 160cm. She was healthy looking, a good level of personal fitness, with fairly well defined musculature and around 60kg. She was not a threat to the Soldier or its effectiveness.

“I need to...wash you then…”

The Soldier waited for orders.

“Do you want to have a shower?” She asked.

“The handler ordered I should undergo hygiene protocol.” The Soldier replied.

She looked at him. “Do you have a name?”

“The Soldier.” 

“You are…” she paused, corrected herself, “aren’t acting normally.”

“I am acting within normal parameters.” The Soldier corrected her. 

She sighed and backed away to the scatter of foil packets on the floor, crouching to pick them up without taking her eyes off the soldier for more than a moment. She put them on top of a stack of towels.

“You know what they want you to do?” She asked him.

“The handler ordered me to comply with full hygiene protocol.” It replied. “I will comply with all orders given whilst hygiene protocol is being completed.”

She blinked, “okay,” then swallowed, “sit down.” 

She gestured at the bench and the soldier sat where indicated. She walked over to it and crouched by its legs, where she started to remove the dressing. When it came away she gasped. The Soldier looked down.

“That is  not possible!” She breathed.

The wound had begun to knit back together, and was dry and closed, if very tender looking. 

“You shouldn’t even be able to walk.” She looked up at it. 

“Bones will set to a basic movement strength within two hours. Combat should not be initiated within twenty-four hours of bone setting. Complete return to full bone strength will be achieved within a two week period.” It recited. It tilted its head to the side. “I heal fast.” It explained.

“You heal...it’s incredible! I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t set your leg myself.” She stood. “Give me your arm.” 

The Soldier held out his arm and she stripped away the splinting. The Soldier flexed his fist. The bone had begun to knit well. It held out its hand to help her up, then stopped itself. It was not sure where the urge had come from. She took its hand and squashing the confusion, it helped her up from her crouch on the floor. 

She stepped away immediately and walked over to the showers, turning one on. 

“Bring the shower gel and shampoo.” She said over her shoulder. 

The Soldier picked up the plastic basket and walked over, pausing a metre away from the spray. The water steamed in front of him. This was atypical for hygiene protocol. The woman stood in the shower spray facing away from it and it was briefly distracted by a runnel of water which suddenly broke in a rivulet out of the woman's hair and ran down her back between her shoulder blades. The Soldier refocused and held out the basket as the woman turned. 

She paused, then took the basket, sorting through the contents, selecting what she wanted and putting them on the ledge in the showers which served as a shelf.

“Come here.” 

The Soldier stepped into the water. It was hot. The Soldier frowned, uncertain what action should follow. The water ran over its face and it blinked the water out of its eyes. The nurse, Vanessa, sighed, took its hand and pulled it closer to her, a little to the side so the water ran over its shoulder and chest not its face. 

The water was very pleasant.

“Can you wash yourself?” She asked it.

The Soldier frowned. 

“I must submit to hygiene protocol.” It said. 

She sighed again. “You’re a mess.” 

She ran her hands over its hair. It had tangled in clumps and there was clotted blood in the side from where it had hit its head descending from the building. It stood still while she poured some cleaning liquid from a bottle and started to work it over its head, stretching up with difficulty.

“Can you bend down a bit so I can reach your head?”

The Soldier considered a moment, then sat down. She paused then continued in working the liquid through its hair. It closed its eyes. The fingers massaging its scalp were very pleasant. After a minute or two of her working at its head it realised it was having a similar physiological reaction to earlier. It had a vague memory, scraped up from somewhere in its mind, that this was why this was not a normal part of its hygiene protocol. Flicking its gaze downwards, it could see its penis was stiffening. It sat still and let the nurse rinse the soap from its hair. More liquid was poured on its hair. 

“This is going to hurt a little.” She warned him from above. 

It frowned. The greasier liquid was worked through its hair and then a comb began to work through the matts in its hair starting at the tips. She was right, it tugged and pulled and the slight jerks of pain were enough to deal with its unexpected physiological reaction. 

Finally it appeared that the comb was working evenly through its hair and the greasy fluid was washed away. It wondered if its handlers would shear the hair away again. It could not remember when, but it knew it had been shorn before. 

“Okay.” The nurse said, pushing the hair back from its face. “Stand up.”

It looked up. Her hairstyle had suffered from the shower, and the rolls were hanging limply at the sides. Her makeup however was still in place, black eyeliner, mascara and lipstick. It frowned.

“What is wrong?” She asked.

It stood. “Your face.” It said. “Your mascara. The water hasn’t washed it away.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say ever.” She said. “It’s waterproof mascara. And the eyeliner. Waterproof eyeliner.”

“They can do that?” It asked. It stopped, the words had just flowed out of it.

“Maybe you are a real boy.” She murmured. “One sec.”

She reached up and took the pins out of her hair, letting it tumble down around her face. The Soldier started to experience the physiological reaction again as she turned and placed the pins on the ledge. 

“Okay.” She said, picking up another bottle. “I guess I better get you washed up.”

It stood as she soaped up it’s chest and back, washing it thoroughly, massaging soap into its armpits and rinsing it off. It was the most pleasurable sensation it could ever remember having. She paused a moment when she looked down and saw the effect of its reaction, but huffed out a breath, knelt and washed its thighs.

“Spread your legs a bit.” She ordered it.

It moved to At Ease position and she began to wash between its legs. It groaned and its thighs tensed as she washed its groin and penis.

When she finished, she stood. Closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“My turn.” She said.

It watched her wash herself, quickly and thoroughly, then turned off the shower and turned to look at the Soldier. After a moment, it reached out and touched the ring in her nipple. She gasped. 

“What is this?” It asked her.

“Nipple piercing.”

“Why?”

She looked up at it. “It’s decorative, and pleasurable. There’s a lot of nerves there.”

It pulled slightly on the ring and her breath stuttered. It stopped and looked at her, still holding the nipple ring.

“Do you know what they want you to do?” She asked it.

“Hygiene protocol.” It replied. “I am clean.”

“And after that?”

“You were ordered to  _ Work it over. Boss says it’s gotta remain functional. _ ” It quoted.

“Do you know what that means?” She asked it.

It thought. “I do not have orders relating to that. I must follow your orders.”

“Crap.” She swore. “They did something to your mind yeah?”

“The Soldier needs to be reset when function drops below optimal.”

“I knew you were going to say something like that.” She muttered. “Do you know anything about sex?”

“Sexual congress, undertaken between partners for mutual pleasure, and between opposite sex partners for the purposes of procreation.” It recited from somewhere in its memory, surprising itself. “Well fuck.” It said. It shook its head, wet hair falling into its face. Optimal function appeared to be decreasing, as its confusion levels were rising.

“You have to have sex with me.” She said. “Or they’ll shoot me.”

It blinked through the curtain of wet hair now obscuring its vision.

“You know what that means?” She asked it.

It frowned. 

“Can you even give consent to sex?” She asked. 

It seemed to be a rhetorical question so it did not bother replying. It had been given an order.

“Okay.” She met its eyes again. “Don’t hurt me.”

That was a clear order.

She stepped forward into its personal space and put her arms around its neck. It tensed, but as she pressed against it, its penis was pressed between their bodies and that was distinctly pleasurable.

“I’m not convinced this isn’t rape.” She told it. “I’m pretty certain you can’t give informed consent.”

It frowned, looking down at her.

“But I don’t have any choice here, so at least I can make sure you enjoy it.”

“Doll,” it said, then stopped.

She frowned back at it. “Sometimes…” She said.

It did not want to talk, its confusion levels were rising and it would be reset soon. It picked her up and kissed her. This was what should happen next. She squeaked, but let it kiss her, wrapped her legs around its waist. This seemed familiar. It stopped and looked at her.

“You okay?” She asked it.

“Yes.” It said. 

It walked out of the wet area and back to the benches. It balanced her on its metal arm, reached over and swept the towels onto the floor. It had been ordered not to hurt her, it must have a soft surface. It spread them out a bit with its foot then put her down on the towels and sank down next to her. 

Whilst it knew what to do, it was familiar with anatomy, it had no memory of seeing a naked person except itself before. It reached out and ran its hands over her body, thumbing the rings in her nipples and making her twitch, running a thumb over her red painted lips and finally sliding its metal hand down between her thighs to card through her pubic hair. There was a slight tinking sound and it frowned, moving down and parting her legs wide to look.

“Clitoral hood piercing.” She gasped as it leaned in and spread her labia to get a better look. 

A tiny ring was pierced through the hood of skin which covered her clitoris. It reached in and gave it a slight tug and she moaned. This position felt familiar again and without thinking it leaned forward and licked a stripe up her vulva then caught the ring between its lips and explored it with its tongue. She writhed underneath it and it let go and tilted its head back to look up her body.

“Doll…” it said again, but wasn’t sure how to continue. 

It gave up and pushed its face back into her groin, tasting and licking into her. Her physiological reactions made it clear that this was not unpleasant and it found itself enjoying her reactions. It ground its penis into the heap of towels beneath it. She was salt-sour in its mouth, odd but not unpleasant and again familiar to it. Acting on instinct or memory it couldn’t grasp it moved its hand up to slide a metal finger into her vulva and push inwards. She cried out and convulsed around its finger. It pushed a second finger into her and continued to move them around, spreading then gently thrusting, as she began to relax. Finally it pushed itself up and moved forwards to cover her body with its own.

“No!” She said as it rested its weight over her. “No glove, no love.” 

It frowned. 

“Condom.” She said, scrabbling with a hand towards a discarded foil square. 

It sat back, pinning her legs. The Soldier picked the foil packet up and tore it open carefully taking out the rubber circle within. It was a prophylactic, and memory provided it with enough information to put it on its penis. It positioned it and then rolled it down its penis one handed with its flesh hand whilst it pushed two metal fingers into her with the other. She arched as it flicked at her clitoral ring with its metal thumb then used its fingers, shiny with her own secretions, to hold her open while it leaned forward and pushed its penis steadily into her vulva. 

She was hot, hot and tight and it groaned. It had no memory of having done this before, but muscle memory seemed to carry it forward as it propped itself up on an elbow, grabbed her buttock with the other hand and thrust into her. It revised its former assessment of being bathed with hot water as the most pleasurable thing it had experienced. This was like being burned out with pleasure from the inside. She was groaning and panting underneath it as it thrust into her over and over again. 

“I can’t…” she moaned

It took a moment to look at her, not stopping thrusting into her. 

“Almost…” She said, straining up against it. 

She forced a hand down between their bodies to touch herself, but there was no room where it had her pinned. She was groaning in apparent frustration. The Soldier’s pleasure was building, it couldn’t have stopped thrusting into her if it tried.  _ Fucking her, _ its brain provided,  _ you are fucking her. _

“Oh fuck doll!” It groaned. 

It needed to get deeper, tighter. It pulled out and flipped her over bodily, pulling her up onto hands and knees. It parted her buttocks and pushed back into her vulva, using its knees to pin her legs together, tighter. So deep, so tight. Propped up on it’s metal hand it reached round her and pulled on the rings in her nipples, making her cry out as it fucked into her. It reached down, feeling around till it found the ring in her clitoral hood and as it thrust in, pulled, gently.

She almost screamed and collapsed forward onto her elbows. Her vaginal musculature clamped down around it in tight rhythmic pulses, the new angle of her body pressing down hard on its penis and it rammed itself back in, back arched, as its orgasm hit it in blinding pulses of pleasure. 

“Fuck, doll.” It whispered.

It let them collapse sideways onto the towels, holding her to it so it did not fall out, enjoying aftershocks of pleasure. 

After a while it let itself slide out and took off the prophylactic one handed, depositing it on the floor a little way away. It wiped itself with the towel, then pulled her back into the curve of its body. She was warm, the activity appeared to have dried them somewhat, although it could smell perspiration again. It...liked her. It allowed itself to explore her body with its free hand, she did not appear to complain. She was very, very wet between the legs with her own secretions and it was able to slide two fingers into her without effort. 

“Ahhhh.” She moaned. “I don’t think I can do it again.” 

It thrust gently for a while and she moved rhythmically against it. Out of the corner of its eye it saw movement. A handler was looking through the glass in the top of the door. Whilst the showers themselves were out of the line of sight, this area was well in view of the door. The handler, lifted his hand into view and gave a clear tactical signal to hurry up. The soldier, twisted its hand a little so it could rub the heel of its hand over her mons pubis and clitoris as it thrust and after another minute or two, she shuddered against it. It gave her a minute to recover then wiped her with a towel and stood. 

Moments later, the door opened and the handler, grinning, walked in. He dropped a duffle bag in front of the Soldier and threw a bundle of scrubs at the nurse.

“Dress.” He ordered. “We leave in twenty.”

She clutched the clothes to her. “What about me?”

“Don’t worry,” the handler told her, “you ain’t getting shot, you get to come with. Boss says you’ll be useful.”

The Soldier dressed quickly back into a new uniform. The nurse was still sitting on the floor. It picked her up bodily, lifting her up to put the scrub pants on her then pulling the top over her head. It felt satisfied that it would not be required to shoot her before it was reset. Maybe she would be responsible for its hygiene procedure again. It did not know.

  
  



End file.
